


You Deserve to be Happy

by queenofsevenfandoms



Category: The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Crank Newt (Maze Runner), Fix-It, M/M, Newt (Maze Runner) Lives, Oblivious Thomas (Maze Runner), Poor Thomas (Maze Runner), Post-The Death Cure, The Death Cure Spoilers, newtmas - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:41:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28474095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofsevenfandoms/pseuds/queenofsevenfandoms
Summary: Another story where Newt survives the events of Death Cure.A happy ending for Thomas and Newt.
Relationships: Newt/Thomas (Maze Runner)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 79





	You Deserve to be Happy

* * *

  
I heard the waves before I saw them, the splashing water onto the sand. The lingering scent of salt and leftover hints of a bonfire. Had I ever seen the ocean before? Even in picture? My side ached each step I took closer to shore. The ghost of a gunshot rang in my ears, but was quickly replaced by a far happier sound.

Down at the shore, there were shouts and laughter. Friends were raising cups to cling against each other's. Children ran around at the shore, squealing as the water hit their toes. Others were swimming in the water with glee. All of it was beautiful, and yet my heart ached.  


Newt hadn’t survived. Together they survived the maze, WCKD’s numerous schemes, and the scorch. That was when I knew. The scorch, as horrid as it was, changed everything. None of it mattered now. It was all a whisper of what could have...  should have been.

My moments with Newt were the only moments I felt myself relax, even if it was for a brief moment as the sun went down over the sand. “You can’t give up, Tommy,” he’d say.  _Well_ , I thought.  _I’d rather wish I could right now._

Someone shouted my name. Minho and the others were gathered around a tent. Each of them looked brighter than before. _Happier_. Selfishly, I couldn’t help but feel resentment that they were able to smile. That anyone could smile after what happened. 

Minho jogged over, like he did the very first time I saw him. Only this time, he ran straight to me instead of running past. His hug was a warm blanket, comforting in ways I didn’t know I needed. But it was brief. Ending the moment I hissed in pain when Minho squeezed a little too tight.

His eyes trailed to my stomach. “Stupid shank. Should’ve never let you run off.”

I wanted to laugh. Say I understood. Anything. Instead, I shrugged.

“Thomas.” The sound of my name in Minho’s voice wasn’t like before. It wasn’t accusatory, or fearful. Now, it was laced with something foreign. Something that sounded like grief. I knew what his next words would be about. It was a topic I couldn’t broach so quickly. Perhaps, I would never speak of it out loud again. 

“Do you have the necklace I had on me?” I asked. “I can’t find it.” What I didn’t say was that before coming out of the hut, I searched for it for nearly half an hour. For Newt’s final words to me.

Minho dug in his pocket and handed me the tiny vial. 

I pocketed it, said my hello’s to everyone else. Minho tried to speak again, but I shook my head and found a spot alone by the shore.

Inside the necklace were tiny rolls of paper. The paper trembled in my hands as I lifted it out. A foolish part of me wanted to never read it, to discard it in the sea and deny the finality of Newt’s death. But I couldn’t. 

Each line caused a different spot in my heart to ache.  _ And I remember  you... I knew I would follow you anywhere...  _ _You deserve to be happy._ I didn’t bother to prevent the tears that were now falling steadily down my cheeks. To hold them in would be disastrous, an insult to the loss of my friend. 

Friend. It was such a funny word. To some it meant acquaintance. Others found it to be a far deeper bond. A bond that tied to the very depths of your soul, intertwining with every detail of yourself. A bond that changed everything about you. That was what Newt had been. It is what he always would be, no matter how many years faded.

Later that evening, I sat around the campfire with Minho, Brenda, and the other survivors. It was peaceful. The sound of the crackling fire, the children’s laughter,the stars shining bright above them that were totally oblivious to the destruction and chaos below. It should be enough that we survived. But I could only see the Newt sized hole in the circle.

“Hey shuck face,” Minho whispered, using the same concerning tone from earlier. “I gotta talk to you. And soon.”

I waved him off, finishing the remnants of whatever drink someone (likely Gally) had cooked up. I stood to my feet. “It can wait.”

“No, Thomas. It can’t.” 

The seconds that passed between Minho’s words dragged out painfully slow. Right as Minho opened his mouth, likely to find some way to bring up Newt’s death, Vince walked up. “How ya doin, kid?”

“I’m fine.”

Vince raised a brow. “If I had a dollar for every time, Thomas...”

Beside me, Minho was doing some weird twist of hand, desperately eyeing Vince. I had never seen him so disheveled before. It was unnerving.

“Vince,” Minho said, urgency in his voice. There was some message he seemed to be trying to communicate with Vince. One I wasn’t privy to.

A pause. “You still haven’t—“

“No.”

The frown lines on Vince’s face deepened. “Better do it sooner than later, kid.”

“What’s he talking about, Minho?”

Minho closed his eyes. “I’ve been trying to tell you all day, shuck face! But you kept running off.”

“Tell me what?”

I hadn’t noticed Vince leave, but Minho certainly did. He seemed more anxious now than before. Shifting on his feet. Looking away. Running a shaking hand over his face and dragging it down.

“It’s about Newt.”

My throat began to close on itself. The once peaceful air buzzed like hundreds of bees. It made my hands tingle and my skin itch. I found myself looking around, scanning for any possible escape. Eventually, I managed to swallow the sour taste in my throat. 

“I don’t want to talk about him yet.”

“Well, too bad, Thomas!” Minho grabbed me by the arm. He dragged me away from the bonfire, and behind a hut.

“Now, listen up, shank. You’re going to shuck your mouth and not speak until I’m done. You ask too many questions as is.” A pause. “Got it?”

Panicking, I opened my mouth to object.

Minho paid no mind. He took a steadying breath. “Newt is alive.”

I staggered backwards. Everything around me stilled. I barely registered the words Minho was speaking. Something about Newt’s pulse, a woman taking my blood, the cure being given. The words rushed in through my ears and clanged around on repeat. Blood, cure, Newt. It wasn’t possible. The last moment I saw Newt, black eyed and murderous, he had been lifeless on the ground. No one, no matter how much I wished it, could come back from the dead.

Uninvited tears fell from my eyes and I pushed the extended hand away. All I could reason with was my disbelief, even as Minho rambled on about it not being a trick from WCKD, nor a dream.

“A dream,” I muttered. “It’s a dream. Please, let me wake up, Minho.”  _ For this is too cruel, and I am about to break. _

“It’s not a dream, you shank.”

_ Why not prove it, then? _ If Newt were alive, surely he would be here. The real Newt would never leave me waiting in the dark.

Grumbling about me being the shuckiest shuck he had ever met, Minho pushed me back towards the gathered crowd. Even standing in front of the bonfire, I was wary. I felt everyone’s eyes on me, the hushed whispers and concerned looks shared between them. It all felt like a dream, and I knew that any minute I would wake up. I didn’t know where I’d be. Maybe still with WCKD, or laying in the hut. No matter what I saw when I opened my eyes, it wouldn’t be Newt.

Vince rambled on about the Last City and those they had lost this year. He gestured to a large stone—a memorial for the ones who didn’t make it to Paradise. _One day, I'll carve Newt's name._ Only when Vince spoke of a successful cure from a crank past the gone did I start to listen.  _It was exceptional_ , Vince explained. He spoke of the new component added that made the cure permanent. How the person woke up entirely themselves a day after receiving the cure. He explained the person was here, and would be welcomed in as soon as he was cleared by their doctors from mandatory bed rest. 

The entire time, Minho repeatedly sent concerned glances my way.  _It’s not Newt Vince is speaking of_ , I told myself.  _ It can’t be.  _

After Vince’s speech was done, my heart thumped unevenly in my chest. Somehow, every piece of my skin seemed to be on fire, burning with the anxiety pumping through my chest.  _ It can’t be him_. Vaguely, I was aware of the dozens of eyes on me, and the voices asking if I was all right. I ignored them, pushing my way through the crowd to the ocean shore. 

It was there that he found me.

“Tommy.”

I closed my eyes. It was too cruel and painful to believe. In the real world, someone must be waking me up from a dream.

“Tommy,” the voice said again.

I turned. In front of me stood Newt. There was a crinkled grin on his face, and his hair perfectly tousled like the day I met him. I hardly dared to believe it. Yet, my feet carried me forward of their own accord. I stumbled at the pain in my side. 

He caught me. 

I risked looking into his eyes. There were tiny specks of gold amidst the brown, a shade that even WCKD itself couldn’t place in a dream.

“You—“ I swallowed hard. “You’re here.”

The stars were as bright as both Newt’s smile and his tear filled eyes. “Yes, you shank. Thanks to you.”

The words were meaningless. It didn’t matter how. Newt was here. I crashed into him like a freight train, nearly sending us both stumbling into the sand. It sent a sharp pain up my side and to my wound. I ignored it and clung by my fingers to the back of his shirt. His hands were wrapped tightly around my shoulders, one resting on the back of my head.

“I would change everything,” I whispered.

His hand began to rub soothing circles on my back the moment my breath hitched. “Yeah, Tommy?” His voice tickled my ear.

I could do no more than nod.

“What would you change?” The words were a softer whisper than my own, filled with both hesitation and curiosity.

I ran through the memories in my head. The possibilities were endless. The times we met each other’s eyes after walking away and turning back. I always seemed to be a few seconds behind. The night of my welcome bonfire in the glade when Newt’s eyes darted to my mouth. I looked away, too nervous to entertain the idea. The night in the scorch when he followed me after Frypan’s outburst. He rubbed my back, as he had done a few moments ago, and let his hand brush the nape of my neck. By the time I turned, he was already gone. None stood out as much as their nights spent together after Minho was taken.  


Every night we stayed up talking for hours, and each night, Newt’s hand found my own. Even if it was for a fleeting moment claimed to be an accident, or an encouraging squeeze. I never took hold of his first. Countless moments seemed to slip right through my fingers. Moments I had been too oblivious and frightened to take heed of. There were far too many missed moments and opportunities. Now we had the rest of our lives to seize each moment and make up for lost time.

In the end I said nothing. I settled for resting my forehead against his, sharing the air he breathed. Nothing in the world changed. The stars didn’t remove themselves from their posts in the sky to fall upon us, nor did the hoops and hollers of our friends reach our ears. But looking back months from then, it was the moment that changed it all. 

**Author's Note:**

> No, there is no mention of Teresa’s death because I can’t stand her 😅
> 
> None of the characters belong to me, but to James Dashner. Any direct quotes are credited in the work.


End file.
